An Independent Woman
by r4ven3
Summary: Some time in S.8, Ruth decides that if Harry isn't interested in her, she may as well take up other offers to socialise. 4 chapters, an AU scenario, M rated in Chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

"_The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off."_

- Gloria Steinem (US feminist, writer and activist)

* * *

It has taken at least twenty minutes for the last five minutes to pass. Ruth is sure that time warps during times of either intense anticipation, or gut-wrenching dread, but she's not yet sure into which category this moment in time falls. She's only anticipating it so that it can then be over, after which she can get on with her life as usual.

And what exactly is `life as usual' for her?

Thinking of Harry, and wondering why he is being so distant, and why he hasn't asked her for a drink, when he'd accepted her offer of a drink, which had been waylaid by Tariq's findings, which had resulted in another three hours on the Grid. And then there's the time she spends missing Nico, and feeling sadness and regret over George.

That is her life.

So why has she accepted another dinner invitation from Simon Lawson?

She mulls that one over for another few minutes, and comes to the conclusion that since no-one else is showing an interest in her, she may as well accept Simon's offer.

She'd been window shopping in central London, when a female voice had called her name.

"Ruth! It _is_ Ruth, isn't it?"

Ruth had momentarily tried to hide inside the bulk of her coat, but the woman had walked closer, and was eventually in her line of sight, so to ignore her would have been considered unsociable at best, and at worst, rude. Ruth had asked herself what Ros Myers would have done in that situation, and the words, `piss' and 'off' would have featured prominently, she was sure. She lifted her head to see the face of a friend of hers from university.

"Nat? Natalie Hart?"

"Natalie Lawson, now," the woman replied, waggling her left hand in front of her face, so that the enormous rock on the ring finger sparkled in the reflected light from the display inside the shop window.

"You're ….. you're married," Ruth had stammered.

"I bloody well hope so. Otherwise this little one will be born illegitimate." Nat patted her stomach, and Ruth's eyes dropped to see the rounded belly of around five months of pregnancy.

"Guess who I married?" Nat asked, her eyes sparkling like her engagement ring.

"I've no idea."

"Andrew Lawson! Imagine that?"

Ruth tried to imagine Andrew Lawson, and nope, she couldn't.

"You remember them, surely. The Lawson twins – identical – Andrew and Simon. I married Andrew, and Simon is now divorced, so he's in the market again. Are you married, Ruth? With someone?"

It was at that point that Ruth knew she should have politely faked an important appointment for which she was late, but no, she got hooked into the conversation with Natalie, and like she always had, she answered all the other woman's questions truthfully. Next thing she knew, she was having coffee with Nat, and exchanging phone numbers, and after that, she'd agreed to allow Nat to give her number to Simon Lawson.

"Who knows? We might end up as sisters-in-law."

And Ruth can think of nothing she'd want less.

So ... why is she having a second dinner with Simon?

She's told herself that she quite likes Simon, and he's good company, but that's not true. He's still rather nice to look at – tall, blond hair thinning (like someone else she knows), pleasant looking (again, like a certain someone) – but he's rather dull, and likes horses, both riding them, and betting on them at the race track. And he talks about them endlessly, and Ruth nods and smiles. She thinks of the conversations she and Harry had shared before she'd had to leave the country, and Simon's intellect is a pale shadow by comparison to Harry's.

So Ruth quickly rings Simon, and relieved to be getting his voicemail, she leaves a message crying off their dinner that evening. She then turns off her phone – in case he rings back wanting an explanation – and begins to gather her things in preparation for leaving for the day.

"Going somewhere, Ruth?"

Like he often does, Harry had crept up on her without her noticing. She stands up to find him right beside her.

"Just home. I feel a bit …." _Guilty, annoyed with myself, tired of all this, hungry for you._ "I feel a bit queasy."

"Can I drive you home? If you're not feeling well, you might need someone to stay with you for a while."

"Harry, I'll be alright. Really, there's no …..." and she pulls on her coat, grabs her bag, and hurries past him and through the doors.

Once Ruth enters the lift, she wonders – for the thousandth time – why it is she continues to brush Harry off, when she wants so much to be close to him. _I just want him to fight for me, like I fought for him_, is a thought which emerges from deep inside her, shocking her with its raw truthfulness.

Back on the Grid, Harry still stands beside Ruth's desk, wondering what just happened. In case anyone is watching him – and they all are, but surreptitiously – he pretends to read a file which had been left on Ruth's desk. He has a sense deep in his gut that he'd just allowed another opportunity to pass him by.

* * *

Two hours later, Ruth has eaten a boiled egg with soldiers, and has downed several cups of tea. She sits on her sofa with a book, but she's not really reading it. For her, a book in her hands is comforting, like a glass of good whiskey is for Harry.

There it is again.

She thinks of Harry at least once every minute, perhaps more. She is annoyed with herself for not accepting his offer of a ride home, and she is equally as annoyed with him that he didn't push to drive her home. Surely, had he really meant it, he would have _insisted_ he drive her home.

_And what would you have done had he? _

Ruth knows she would have stuck to her need to be independent, and resisted his offer with all her strength of purpose.

_Bollocks!_

What – that I'm an independent woman? I have to let Harry know that I'm not some weak little woman who'll fall into his arms when he snaps his fingers.

_You're afraid._

Of what?

_You know what, so don't play dumb._

Ruth sighs, staring at the gas fire which she'd not turned on, instead having chosen to wrap herself in a fluffy blanket. She really doesn't want to think about Harry.

_So why is every second of your life occupied with thoughts of him?_

Because I still love him. Because I never stopped loving him, even when I was living happily with George.

Ruth knows she can't be thinking in this way. It is too dangerous. She knows that the reason she was able to live happily with George was because she didn't love him, and that doesn't make any sense at all, even to her.

_To love someone is dangerous, right?_

Oh, shutup!

* * *

Harry is in his office, still mulling over Ruth's sudden departure. He wants a drink, but so far has resisted the call of the amber liquid. He has tried ringing her, but each time the call goes through to voicemail. He hates it when she's not on the Grid. Oh, he knows she has a private life which doesn't include him. It was only last week that she'd smartened herself just before leaving work, and the buzz around the Grid had been that she had a date. What she does away from work is none of his business. He has no ownership of her.

Harry wishes he could take his bravery in the field, and apply it to his relationship with Ruth. It is clear to him that she is drifting away from him, and that perhaps George's death was something neither of them could move beyond.

He suddenly feels very, very tired, and he passes his hand over his face. He needs to have it out with her, this lack of closeness between them. He needs to hear her say to his face that she no longer cares for him, that there will never be a `them' …... an `us'. Until she does, he won't be able to sleep properly, as disturbed as he's been by dreams of Mani giving the order to have Ruth killed.

"_Shoot the woman ….. now!" Mani calls to one of his men._

_Ruth is sobbing, and he can do nothing. He can't give away the location of the uranium. He can't. Then a shot rings out, and he screams Ruth's name._

This is the point at which he always wakes, having called out Ruth's name in his sleep. He wakes with sweat pouring down his face, and tears in his eyes.

Ros enters his office without knocking, and closes the door behind her. She slides her slim frame into the chair opposite his own, and stares at him across his desk, her eyes hard as flint.

"You know what the problem is, don't you?"

"Rosalind?"

"It's you, Harry." Ros leans forward, so that her hands rest on the edge of the desk. "You're a coward with her, and she wants you to fight for her. If you love her, you have to fight for her. That's all any woman ever wants."

Harry looks at her with a shocked and surprised expression.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Harry. We're all aware of what _isn't _happening between the two of you. The tension between the two of you is affecting productivity on the Grid."

"I don't know what you mean." Harry's voice is quietly menacing.

"If you don't know what I mean, then you're in worse shape than I think you are." Ros stands, ready to leave. "_Fight_ for her."

Harry stares at the door through which Ros has just left, and wonders how it is she knows so much. Are he and Ruth that transparent? Is he really that clueless? He stands, and walks to his drinks cabinet, and lifts his whiskey decanter, preparing to pour himself a drink. He puts down the decanter and sighs. He needs to act differently. He knows Ros is right, and that he needs to fight for her.

Harry grabs his coat, his keys and his phone, turns off the lights in his office, and leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you for the enthusiasm for the first chapter. I hope that this continues to live up to expectations.**_

* * *

Ruth is thinking that it's high time she went to bed, when there is a knock on the front door. It is a gentle and tentative knock, so it could be one of her neighbours, or it could be …... Well, it's not going to be Harry, is it? He doesn't visit her at home, not unless he's invited, and she hasn't invited him, not this time.

"Harry -" she says dumbly, as she opens the door.

"I'm sorry if this is too late, Ruth, but we really need to talk, and you were not answering your phone."

She steps aside to let him in, thinking about his last comment.

"Not answering my phone? But you didn't ring."

"Perhaps you need to check your phone," Harry says, following her down the hallway to her sitting room.

Ruth shows him to a comfy chair beside the fire which is not turned on, and then leaves the room to make them a pot of tea, and to check her phone, which she'd left on the counter beside the cooker.

She carries the tea into the living room on a tray, and she places it on the coffee table.

"You were right. My phone was turned off."

"Why? That's not like you. What if there was -"

"An emergency?"

"Well, yes, but -"

"Is that why you're here, Harry? To remind me to turn on my phone."

"Of course not."

He gets up, and takes the teapot from her, and begins pouring the tea. He adds milk and sugar to their cups, and hands hers across the table to her. He then takes his own cup, and sits back in the chair.

By this time, Ruth has turned on her phone, and is listening to the voicemails.

"You rang me _five times_!"

"I was worried about you."

"You needn't have. I just wanted to get away from everything and spend some time on my own."

"Is that all?" His biggest fear is that she wants to be as far away from him as possible.

"No." She carefully sips her tea. "Nice. You know exactly how I like my tea, Harry."

Harry doesn't reply. She still hasn't answered his question. He really wants to know why she left the Grid in such a hurry. Had she been running from him? It had certainly looked like it.

Ruth doesn't answer him straight away. She's not sure how much she should tell him. What would he think of her were he to know she'd been out with Simon Lawson, and to avoid meeting him again, had cancelled at the last minute? It is then she realises how much his opinion matters to her. She is so cautious around him, so careful. Is this because she doesn't want him to know how terribly flawed she is?

"You changed the subject, Ruth. What's the real reason you left the Grid in such a hurry? Did someone say something to you? Did they offend you?" `Did _I_ offend you' is implied.

Ruth shakes her head, and sips her tea, concentrating on the cup she holds between her hands. "Would you like the fire on, Harry?"

"Don't change the subject. I am quite warm, thank you." To prove a point, Harry stands and removes not only his coat, but his jacket as well, and he throws them over the back of another chair. He'd already removed his tie in the car, and left it on the passenger seat. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, providing temporary distraction for Ruth.

It is then that Ruth recognises that Harry is not about to let this go. He is not about to give up. She sighs heavily, and carefully places the cup on the coffee table.

"My leaving the Grid when I did had nothing to do with you, Harry. I needed to come home …... to be somewhere I felt safe. Sometimes it happens like that."

Harry sighs, leaning back in his chair, annoyed by his own insensitivity. "I'm sorry, Ruth."

"It wasn't your fault, Harry."

"Then whose fault was it?"

"I shouldn't have accepted the first dinner invitation. I should have -" Seeing Harry's face stricken and hurt, Ruth suddenly realises there's been a miscommunication. Will things always be like this between them? "Not you, Harry. I don't mean the dinner with you. That was …..." _ Lovely, delightful, surprising, memorable ….. burned into my heart._

Harry is barely breathing. He has no idea what Ruth is talking about. Then he remembers why he is here – to fight for Ruth, for _them_. "What dinner are you talking about, Ruth?"

This time, Ruth puts down her cup, and takes a breath before she speaks. "I went out to dinner last week with someone I'd known at university. I ran into one of my old friends from uni in the street, and she married …... To cut a long story short, I agreed to go out to dinner with her brother-in-law. I didn't enjoy myself. I kept looking at my watch, waiting for it to be over, and then when he asked me to have dinner again, I said yes. I can't explain why. Somehow, saying yes was easier than having to tell him that I didn't want to do it again, and then having to _explain_ myself." Ruth is looking at her hands, busily grasping the bottom of her shirt. "I was supposed to have dinner with him tonight, but I rang and cancelled – on his voicemail. Then I turned my phone off and came home." She looks up at him then, and shrugs, hoping he won't think she's too stupid …... or cruel. "I wasn't talking about our dinner, Harry. Our dinner was …... lovely." After all this time – over three years – the memory of their one dinner together still warms her at night.

Of course, he knows she'd had a date last week, but hearing her talk about it has made it real. He doesn't know how to react. While part of him is jealous, angry even, mostly he is relieved. Look at it this way …... she was meant to be with this other man now, and yet he is the one sharing a pot of tea with her. That must be a good sign, surely.

"Have you anything stronger than tea, Ruth?"

"I do, as it happens."

Ruth has always kept a bottle of single malt in her cupboard under the cooker. She tells herself that she does it in memory of her father, who also enjoyed a good whiskey, but she knows that's a lie. She keeps it in the hope there will be nights like this one, where Harry turns up unexpectedly, asking for a drink. She takes the bottle and two glasses into the living room, and places them in front of Harry. "You can do the honours," she says.

They each sit in their seats – he in a chair near the cold fire, and she on the sofa, her bare feet curled under her – and sip their whiskey. There is so much they each want to say – need to say – that neither knows where to begin.

Harry keeps reminding himself why he is here, and that to fight for her will demand he be brave, perhaps even foolish.

"Ruth," he says quietly, and she looks up at him, a flash of fear in her eyes. "Would you mind of I sat on the sofa next to you?"

"Why?" As soon as the word is out of her mouth she regrets it. "What I mean is …... oh, alright."

"I won't if you don't want me to. I'm quite happy here, it's just that -"

Ruth shuffles across to make room for him beside her. She pats the seat, and looks at him, smiling. He puts his drink on the coffee table, and covers the short distance between them, sliding close to her, so that his knee touches hers. She leans a little towards him, her hand on her own thigh, an invitation to him to touch her.

"You …... you seem to want me here, Ruth. Why did you sound so unenthusiastic when I asked?"

She sighs heavily. _There's a lot of that going on tonight,_ he thinks. "I often say the …... exact opposite of what I mean, what I want. Like when I accepted Simon's dinner invitation, and then the second one. I didn't want to go out with him in the first place."

Harry takes a while to let that sink in. One of the things he loves about Ruth is her complexity. She is an enigma, even to him, and he knows her better than anyone. Getting to know her has been like peeling an onion. There are just so many layers to her. Perhaps, then, words are not the most useful means of communication.

Very carefully, he reaches across and places his hand on hers. He can feel Ruth's slight intake of breath, and then she turns her hand under his so that they can entwine their fingers. Harry turns his head towards her and smiles, but she is looking at their hands. He is barely breathing.

Harry wonders would it be too bold of him to reach across and kiss her, when her phone rings. They both jump, and their hands spring apart. Ruth leans forward to pick up the phone. She makes a face, and shows him the screen ….He reads _Simon calling_, as the phone keeps ringing.

"Do you want me to scare him off?" Harry suggests.

"It's my problem, Harry. I have to deal with it."

"Just tell him the truth, Ruth. That's all any man wants to hear. We're simple creatures. Just the truth."

Ruth gets up as she answers, and wanders into the kitchen, her end of the conversation just a series of umms and ah-hahs. He tries not to listen in, but he is curious as to whether she will be able to tell this guy she doesn't want to see him. _That she's seeing someone else_. Well, almost.

He turns to watch her as she wanders back into the living room. "... and I can't see you again, Simon. It isn't fair on you to string you along. I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea. I thought it might have been …. no, I don't think that's a very good idea. I can't just drop everything and …... _Simon_ – I won't be meeting you again. We have nothing in common. …... Well, there is someone, but that's my business..."

Ruth takes her phone from her ear, and looks at it. "He hung up on me," she says.

"You told him the truth, Ruth. It worked."

"Most of what I said was the truth. I find it hard to be cruel to someone." She puts the phone down on the table, and sits back beside Harry.

"Believe me, Ruth …... keeping the truth from a man is much more cruel than being blunt with him. He'll get over it. His pride has been hurt. When you agreed to go out with him again, he believed he'd passed the first test."

"And had I turned down his invitation to have dinner again?"

"He would have felt he'd failed, but at least he knew where he stood with you."

They are sitting together on the sofa, watching one another. They each know that this conversation is no longer about Ruth and Simon. There is still an event which took place over three years earlier which was never resolved, never fully understood. She'd had to leave the country soon after, and now she has only been back a few months, during which time most of their conversations have been about work.

Harry is leaning against the back of the sofa, his head turned towards Ruth, and her body position mirrors his. They look at one another, both recognising that this is an important moment between them, perhaps a turning point. He reaches out and touches her cheek with his knuckles. When she doesn't object, he allows his fingers to run the length of her bottom lip, then back and forth. Ruth grasps his hand between her own, and turns it so that her lips touch his knuckles in a soft kiss.

She holds his hand between hers, resting it against her chest. He could reach out with his thumb and touch her breast.

Dare he?


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: This chapter is a definitely M rated, (adult activity).**_

* * *

Harry can barely breathe. She is watching him, her eyes on his mouth.

He holds her eyes with his, while his fingers turn under her hand, and one finger slides through the opening in her shirt. She understands what he wants, and removes her hand, giving him freedom to move. It is awkward to move his right hand under her shirt, so he removes it, and turns his body slightly, and replaces his right with his left. His eyes never leave hers. His fingers explore the soft skin under her shirt, while Ruth makes it easier for him by opening a few buttons. Not all of them. It is more arousing for him to have to slide his fingers between closed buttons.

They still watch one another while Harry's finger reaches her nipple, and gently and slowly moves around it and then over it. Once the nipple is fully erect, he moves his hand to her other nipple.

Meanwhile, Ruth's hand is on his thigh, gliding up and down his leg over the fabric of his trousers, her fingers curved into his inner thigh, where his skin is tender and sensitive. After a few minutes of slow and sensuous movement from knee to upper thigh, she moves her hand high enough so that when she reaches out with her finger, she can glance her fingertip across his erection, now stretching his trousers in the front. As Harry's hand moves across Ruth's stomach, from left to right, and then down to the waistband of her skirt, Ruth lifts his shirt from his trousers, and glides her own hand across the expanse of his stomach and chest, scraping his nipples with a fingernail, so that he gasps.

Neither are sure how long they can keep this up without taking it further. They haven't yet kissed, and they both know that as soon as they do, things will surely speed up dramatically.

They both want this to speed up.

They both want it to continue as it is.

Ruth has opened all the buttons on Harry's shirt, and she has caressed his chest and stomach all over. She wants to undo his trousers, and explore further there, but that wouldn't be fair, not if they are not about to take this to the bedroom. They are just exploring one another's skin. Aren't they?

Ruth's fingers feather across his chest once more, and then she explores his throat, his neck, his chin, his lips. He opens his mouth so that her fingers are caught between his teeth.

Harry has lowered the zipper of Ruth's skirt, so that his hand can slide down further, to the waistband of her knickers. He closes his eyes as she runs her fingers down his chin to his throat, and his own fingers slip under her knickers, and edge towards her heat, his palm pressing against her lower abdomen. He knows that it would take very little on his part to bring her to orgasm. Her breathing is heavy, and her pupils dilated.

Herein lies another turning point for them. He pulls his hand out of her knickers, and very slowly edges away from her. As he does so, her eyes widen.

"Ruth," he says, very quietly. "I want this to continue, and I think you know what I mean by that. I need to tell you that if you don't want this like I do, then I'm prepared to stop now, get dressed, and go home. The truth for me is that I'll stop now, if that's what you want. If we continue like this, there will come a time when I won't be able to stop. And if and when we continue, we will be making love – not fucking, but making love. This means everything to me, as I hope it does for you. There will be no going back from this."

Although he is no longer touching her, her hand cups his chin, and her gaze takes in his eyes, his bare chest and stomach, his arousal within his trousers, and the fact that he is still wearing shoes and socks. He waits as Ruth thinks, and then formulates her answer. He is used to this, because this is also what she does at work; she weighs and measures, and mulls things over.

"My head says we should stop this now, and have our second dinner before we go any further."

"I think we're a long way past that second dinner, Ruth."

She nods, her eyes on his lips. "I think so too. It's not as though we don't know one another, because we do." She takes a breath before she continues. "My heart and my body wants us to make love, Harry. I now know that this is what I've always wanted with you. It will mean the same for me as it does for you. I've been afraid …..."

"Of me?"

"God no. I've been afraid to …... let myself go when I'm with you, but now I don't even know why. I'm enjoying this so much …... loving it …... loving …..."

She stumbles on the word, loving, and he knows what she is unable to say. He won't prompt her. One day, hopefully soon, they'll both feel able to say how they feel about the other. Right now may not be the time.

Harry opens his mouth as if to speak, but Ruth covers it with her fingers. "I haven't finished what I wanted to say. I want us to make love, Harry. Now. Tonight. If we don't, we might never make the time for us again. I have a request, though, and I hope you won't think me strange. I've had this fantasy ever since I bought this sofa …..."

He immediately knows what she is about to say, and he smiles widely at her. She keeps her palm over his mouth, and he gently nips her skin with his teeth.

"I know my bed would be more comfortable, but I'd really like us to make love here, on this sofa."

She has no sooner finished speaking than Harry leans over her, and kisses her. It begins as a soft, exploratory kiss, and soon becomes passionate and deep, and they each want much more of the other. Ruth is pushed back against the cushions at one end of the sofa, and Harry lies partly covering her, partly beside her, grinding his erection into her thigh as he seeks her tongue with his own. Ruth winds her arm around his neck, while with her free hand she attempts to undo Harry's trousers. One of his hands massages her breast, now fully exposed, while his other holds her cheek, his fingers entangled in her hair.

They keep kissing, occasionally stopping to draw breath, but they go back to it with more passion, more fervour, all the time the fire building in their lower bodies. Despite being focused on kissing Ruth, Harry has managed to kick off his shoes, and remove his socks with his toes. His attention is on kissing her. He has longed to kiss her like this for so long, he feels he has a lot of catching up to do – four years of it, in fact. He is barely aware of Ruth's hand, opening his trouser buttons, and lowering his zipper, and then sliding inside his underwear to take hold of him, and then release him from his clothing. He is aware of her fingers on him, and then he feels bare skin of a different kind. He gasps deep in his throat with the sheer joy of having her take care of him in that way.

Ruth has managed to push down his trousers and trunks so that his buttocks are free to the air. She has also pulled down her skirt. All this has been going on while he's been kissing her, and loving her breasts with his hands. She has moved her legs so that he is lying between them, and although they are still lip-locked, their passion high, tongues exploring open mouths, his penis is rubbing against the skin if her inner thigh, and he is inching closer to her heat.

"Christ," he says, barely aware of what he is doing. He is acting on instinct, his libido having taken over. As usual, Ruth has had to take charge of things, to ensure this operation goes as planned. As usual, he is having to rely upon Ruth's superior organisational skills.

Reluctantly, Harry lifts his head from hers, and looks at her. Her lips are swollen, and her hair is everywhere. Unknown to him, he has been running his fingers through it. "You are so beautiful," he breathes, his voice husky with passion.

He returns to kissing her, and his hand finds her knickers, and he pulls the material aside to allow his fingers access to her hot and moist skin. He gently rubs across her folds, and then dips two fingers inside her. Hearing her gasp, he does it again. And again.

"I'm ready for you," she breathes, and he sees that her eyes are closed.

He also wants to be inside her. Now. There is no time to remove her knickers, so he pulls them to one side, and slides inside her, into her heat, moist, enveloping, drawing him in slowly, as far as he can reach. When he is inside her he stops.

"What's wrong?" she whispers against his ear.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Just trying …... to make …... this last," he gasps, before he begins moving.

They don't last very long. The material of her knickers moves against Ruth's body in a way that she reaches climax very quickly, and Harry, unable to hold back any longer, follows her over the edge. They fall together, gasping and smiling and totally, totally in love and lust and longing with each other.

It seems to be a long time before their breathing returns to normal.

"My bed is upstairs," Ruth whispers in his ear. "Can you manage that?"

He nods, lifting his head and smiling at her. Ruth has never seen Harry looking so contented, his face muscles relaxed.

They climb the stairs together, strip off all their remaining clothing, and crawl under the duvet to sleep, their limbs entangled, smiles still on their lips.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Last chapter - more an epilogue. Thanks to readers, followers & reviewers.**_

* * *

Next morning, no-one on the Grid appears to notice the change in Harry and Ruth, no-one other than Ros, who sees more than most. She sees that Harry's face is free from the usual worry lines, and that a smile is never far from his lips. She notices the quick glances he and Ruth give one another, and the look of lovers when their eyes meet. There's an intensity of meaning in that look. She's seen it before. She's even experienced it herself. She is glad for them, but mostly, she envies them their sureness, their certainty with each other.

"What's up with Harry?" Tariq asks her when they are together in the tea room.

"What do you mean?"

"He's smiling. At everyone. That's not like him, and I don't trust it."

"Then keep an eye on him," she replies. "It could mean he's working up to a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums."

"Wow,_ really_?"

"Really," Ros says as she leaves the room, Tariq's eyes even larger than usual.

* * *

Ruth cannot concentrate. Her body feels as though Harry has reached right inside her and turned her inside out. She can feel his imprint everywhere – on her skin, and inside her. He'd woken her in the early hours by kissing her awake, ready to make love again. No man had ever been that eager to love her as Harry had been. Using his mouth and his hands, he brought her close before he again entered her, and this time the lovemaking took a long time. Afterwards they again fell asleep in one another's arms, completely spent, totally content, so that when her alarm rang, they each groaned against the skin of the other, feeling as though they'd only slept for an hour.

Harry had left first, as he had to drive home to shower and change. He'd wanted to pick her up on his way into work, but she had declined his offer.

"I'm not yet quite ready to walk on to the Grid with you," she'd told him. "I will be – soon – but I need this to move slowly, Harry. Do you understand?"

Of course he understands. He wants their relationship to move at lightning speed, He's ready to post the banns for them to marry in four weeks, but he is prepared to wait for her. It is what he has wanted for so long, and he knows it will be worth it.

* * *

Eight weeks later, Ros Myers and Andrew Lawrence are dead. Ruth is shocked, and Harry is devastated. She invites him back to her flat after work each night, knowing that were she to allow him too much time on his own, he could easily retreat back into himself. It is only then that Ruth realises how much Harry needs her. She is his rock, his safe place to be, and without her, he becomes surly and morose. Without her, Harry becomes lost.

Each night she holds him as he falls asleep, and she thanks whatever God there is that they have found their way back to one another.

On the morning of Ros's funeral, they wake early and make love slowly. Harry's eyes are filled with tears, and Ruth decides that the best antidote to grief is love. Afterwards, they lie in one another's arms, and Harry sobs against her shoulder. She places gentle kisses on his head, and rubs her palms up and down his back, and across his wide shoulders, shoulders on which he carries far more than should ever be expected of one man.

By the time they are showered and dressed for work, he is calm, but serious, and before they leave Ruth's flat, Harry turns to her and puts his arms around her, pulling her against him.

"Thank you for being here," he says. "I don't know how I would have managed this last week without you."

Ruth's reply is to lift her head and place a kiss on his lips.

Ros's funeral is a sober event, and Harry is stoic. They sit together in the church with only four other people.

After the funeral, she and Harry take a short walk around the grounds of the church. They stop beside a fence, and Harry puts his arm around her, and she feels his breath close to her ear.

"You know that I love you, Ruth," he says quietly. There is no-one else around, so he could have shouted the words, and it would still have been a private moment for them.

"Yes, I know you love me, and you know that your love is returned."

Ruth turns her head slightly, the better to see his face. It is unlike Harry to be so openly loving in a public place. It is only in the privacy of either of their homes that he is open about his feelings for her, so Ruth is alerted that something is different.

"I'd really like it were we to be married, Ruth. Soon. What do you say?"

She hesitates, but she knows he is used to that. Once, her hesitation would have frightened him, causing him to withdraw, perhaps never to come out of his shell again.

"It feels to me like we're already married."

"Don't you want the ceremony and the flowers and the ring? I thought all women wanted that."

"I don't need it. Do you want it, Harry?"

"Yes, I do. I want us to live under the same roof, to always wake up together in the same bed, and for your clothes and mine to be in the same wardrobe."

Ruth turns then, and smiles at him, her eyes on his beautiful mouth. She holds his face between her hands and gently kisses his lips. Dear Harry. He's such a romantic. Next he'll be saying that the animals fret when they're not spending the night together at his house. Fidget is still at his house, and very happy to be staying there, keeping Harry's little dog on her toes.

"Is that a yes?" He asks carefully.

"It's a yes, but with a condition."

Harry pulls away from her, but his hand still rests warmly against her back. "Condition?"

"I think we should move in together, and dispense with one of the houses – mine, obviously – and we should have a kind of trial run at marriage. We haven't yet lived together full time, and we need to. We might drive one another mad were we to live together."

"Do you think that likely?"

"Not really, but we won't know until we try it. I think we should have a trial marriage for six months, and if that works, then yes, lets do the flowers and rings. Oh, and another thing …..."

"What is that?"

"If I wear a ring on my finger, then you should too."

Harry smiles widely, his first proper smile since before Ros had died. "I'll be happy to do that, Ruth."

* * *

Four days later, Ruth moves her things into Harry's house, and three months after that, they marry at a small ceremony in a registry office, exchanging vows and rings in front of a few of their closest friends and family.

Ruth had had enough of the trial marriage after only six weeks. She decided that she wanted a real one. Harry could not have been happier. All their wedding photographs show his face creased in a permanent smile, his gaze turned adoringly towards his wife.

Ruth is still an independent woman, but she is _his_ independent woman.


End file.
